


Of Second Chances

by Aamukaste



Series: Ridiculous AUs no one asked for [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, But not today, Captain!Magnus, Commander!Raphael, Gen, Jonathan is a bad guy and completely off the rails, Lightwoods are in trouble, Mild Language, also, but Magnus and Raphael are there to save the day, future malec if you squint, heavily influenced by star trek but not actual star trek, human auction!, it's set in the future alright, lots of bickering, the Circle Corps is a Nephilim supreme nation that ruins things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 17:37:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20157475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aamukaste/pseuds/Aamukaste
Summary: The auction was… spectacularly improper. The darkened room, the stench, the visually disgruntled audience covered in weapons of doubtful origin. Someone whistled, and Raphael watched with mild amusement Magnus pull a funny face. While always one for a party, their Captain had rather high standards when it came to company these days.Or, Shadowhunters - Space Edition.





	Of Second Chances

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a story about our favourite Downworlders being a badass team in deep space, so here it is

_*_

_Seeing is believing, but feeling is the truth._

Raphael scrunched up his nose. The girl Meliorn was tracking – Isabelle Wayland – was the first one to be presented. The seller, a grotesque looking creature with burnt up skin and bottomless black eyeballs, seemed perfervid to sell off its “goods”. The auction was going full force, when the Mortal landed, thanks to Clary messing up the touchdown.

Clary – the only Shadowhunter on their team – was beyond excited at the prospect of meeting more Nephilim her age, which was understandable considering their rarity. So excited she was, in fact, that she nearly landed them in a mountainside. Their newly appointed navigator swore to never let her fly blind again.

The auction was… spectacularly improper. The darkened room, the stench, the visually disgruntled audience covered in weapons of doubtful origin. Someone whistled, and Raphael watched with mild amusement Magnus pull a funny face. While always one for a party, their Captain had rather high standards when it came to company these days.

Raphael didn’t care though. The participants of the auction were served blood and drinks all the way through the evening, and he, having only taken a sip from his first and only glass, suspected it was spiked to make them all let their guard down, spend more credits on ridiculous weapons and objects that had no meaning whatsoever for most people in the building. Magnus, Raphael noticed, was served blood too, so he wondered momentarily who exactly people were seeing as Cap’s glamour.

The building chosen for the gathering was old and half-rotting, but the hall with the improvised stage was somewhat cleaned out for the event. It was still rather dirty, rusty nails sticking out of metal walls, but it also seemed appropriate that something as fucked up as a human auction would be held in a place like that.

The mundanes, all young and drugged to a brim, were sold off pretty quickly. Two older looking vampires, who Raphael knew to be at least a century or two younger and a good deal more impetuous than him, nearly got into a fight over a fair-skinned boy with dark hair. He looked dazed, smiling faintly, his old-style glasses askew, probably too high to even understand what was happening.

He looked strikingly similar to Simon.

Raphael had to mentally shake himself. He also had to kick Magnus several times to stop him from buying out the whole “special” lot. It was supposed to be a covert operation, no one but their team was aware of the details. Three Nephilim children for sale? If that was true, they couldn’t mess it up by drawing attention to themselves. Not after Raphael agreed to back Bane up on this.

“Stop it, _idiota,_” he kicked Magnus again.

“It’s “_Captain Bane_” when we are on duty, _hijo,_” was his cheeky reply.

Magnus smirked at him, but his eyes bore that pained expression he got whenever something was breaking his heart.

“It’s “Commander Santiago” then, _Captain_,” Raphael rolled his eyes.

Suddenly, the crowd fell silent, minutely distracted by the sight of the next lot.

A new girl was led on the stage. She didn’t seem much different from the mundanes at first, swaying slightly, but trying to keep herself upright. Her dark curls were knotted, deep dark shades were circling her eyes, yet she didn’t look defeated or broken. The bindings on her wrists were glowing, and it was obvious it took tremendous power on her part not to crumble. There was no doubt she was the one they came for though, because she wasn’t just Nephilim, she was a Shadowhunter. Her clothing was way less revealing than the mundane ones, but it did little to hide striking black lines all over her skin.

“Well, shit,” Magnus muttered moving further away from Raphael and bringing their coms to life, sharing that intel.

Raphael glared at Meliorn who looked just as shocked. His information prior to the mission was that the Waylands were descendants.

“We are going to have words about that,” Raphael hissed. “That wasn’t the deal.”

“What is it?” Simon’s worried voice cut through the statics of their coms.

“It’s shit,” Raphael muttered, still glaring at Meliorn. “What if they’re with the Circle?”

“They aren’t,” the Seelie said back sharply.

“Wishful thinking isn’t going to make it true, lieutenant,” Raphael had no patience for that shit. “You are our communication officer. _How in Edom would you skip something like that?_”

“The seller wasn’t actually calling them _Shadowhunters_,” Meliorn gritted out.

The other two were brought out. They couldn’t look any more different, yet somehow the way they carried themselves was nearly identical. One was tall and dark-haired, similar to the girl, the other was shorter and almost shockingly blond. They were both covered in runes as well.

All trained Shadowhunters were serving under the Circle Corps with an odd exception now and then involved with the Nova Federation. The rest of Nephilim across the universe were descendants, not actual fighters. Seeing not one but three runed Shadowhunters was unnerving.

Raphael sighed tiredly, the ghastly air burning his lungs.

“Three of them. _Dios._”

“Stop it. They aren’t marked with the Circle rune,” Magnus said slowly, probably probing them with his magic.

“And the Circle never lies,” Raphael said. “Never hides their true purpose in order to get accomplish their agenda.”

“Reminds you of someone?” Clary said, her voice only mildly annoyed.

Raphael rolled his eyes. Fray still was not over the fact that Simon turned.

“We will have to find out,” Magnus was nowhere to be seen, but his voice was firm. “This is no way to die. No one deserves that.”

“_Dios, capitán_. You and your bleeding fucking-”

“It’s an order. We proceed,” Magnus cut him off.

Raphael looked up at the stage again.

Isabelle Wayland chose that exact moment to spit at the seller as he got closer. She got slapped across the face for that, but didn’t waver.

“You are a traitor, Morgenstern,” she snarled, her voice ringing through the room. “We took you in as our own, we wanted to help you!”

Her lower lip got busted, blood gathering there quickly.

Someone wolf-whistled. The smell of Isabelle’s blood was unmistakable.

The coms cracked, Clary coming on again: “Did she say "_Morgenstern_"?”

“Biscuit, if you saw that vile creature, you’d see how there is nothing in common between him or your late father,” Magnus answered under his breath.

“Not that we miss him,” Simon chirped in.

“What happened to ranks during duty?” Raphael muttered.

Clary’s biological father was an enormous jackass and the highest ranking authority within the Circle Corps. When that pleasant talk first took place, Meliorn almost threw Fray out of an airlock.

Meanwhile, Morgenstern didn’t miss a bit on that wretched stage of his.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said cheerfully, grandly, as if he was a host of a magnificent occasion for respectable public and not for a bunch of vampires of questionable morals. “Let me present the main event of the evening. Not one, but three Nephilim children.”

“Meet the Waylands. One of the oldest Nephilim families on in the known universe,” Morgenstern said, his voice booming. “Look at them now. Alexander here,” he gestured to the taller one, “is the oldest of the three. And Jonathan, of course, the golden middle child.”

The man in question snarled at him but was yanked back by a thick chain that led to the side of the stage.

“You are dead, Jonathan,” he said, loud enough for Raphael to catch that.

Magnus was probably somewhere near the stage, considering that Simon and Clary heard it through the coms as well.

“So they are both named Jonathan?” Simon asked as if they were talking weather.

“_Tocayo_,” Raphael said. “Isn’t it weird?”

“Oh, I know that word!”

“Will you keep silent?” Meliorn snapped in a loud whisper.

“Jonathan Morgenstern,” Clary said slowly. “I think I know that name-”

“Check his record,” Meliorn said, his tone the same. “Check Waylands again. Until then, silence.”

“How do we know that they are from this old family you speak of?” shouted someone to Raphael’s left.

Morgenstern scoffed.

“Ah. My mistake,” he sighed theatrically. “Of course, they aren’t really Waylands, they are the Lightwoods,” he said as if it explained everything. “Haven’t you heard? The fallen and the disgraced, quite recently, I might add.”

A murmur flew across the room.

“There is a hit,” Clary said. “Seven years ago, the head of Outpost Nine, Maryse Lightwood abandoned her post and fled with her three children, Isabelle, Alexander, and Jonathan. It says here, the family was always something of a wonder in the Shadowhunter ranks. The kids were rumoured to not bear the Circle rune.”

“Don’t sound so excited,” Simon scoffed sourly.

“Well, it gets better,” Fray continued. “It says here, their ship was shot in space, so the Lightwoods are considered dead, the only living relative being Robert Lightwood, the Inquisitor of Alicante, no less.”

“How is that better?”

“Well, it sounds like they were fleeing the Circle, for whatever reason!”

“Sounds suspicious,” Raphael countered.

“Sounds like someone in trouble,” Magnus chided. “And that’s what we do. We help people.”

“Not Shadowhunters,” Raphael grunted. “Shadowhunters kill Downworlders, remember? The big supremacist super power of Delta Quadrant?”

“If their Dad is the Inquisitor-”

“It’s not up for debate,” Magnus snapped. “We are rescuing them first, figuring this out later.”

“Convenient,” Raphael muttered.

Jonathan the Burnt, meanwhile, was going all out on the stage, seemingly all too happy to taunt the Lightwoods.

“So. With your interest picked,” he said. “Should we begin with the girl? Ladies first, am I right? Ten thousand credits for a start.”

The crowd exploded, people talking over each other, murmuring, shouting. Raphael winced at the onslaught of sounds.

“Fifteen thousand!”

“Twenty!”

“Fifty!”

Isabelle, who was now pushed to the middle of the stage, paled visibly, her eyes darting across the room, her jaw set. It was evident she wasn’t planning on giving anything away. Jonathan the Shadowhunter howled, he was yanking at his bindings restlessly, screaming something at the seller, his voice drowned by the sea of bids being screamed out. The taller one – Alexander – was pulling at his chains too, but he seemed to grow tired rather quicker than his brother.

Raphael moved through the crowd, narrowly escaping a collision or two. The vampires that filled the room were noticeably drunk by that point. He got to Meliorn who gave him a dark look. The bids were getting higher. They’ve agreed to try and buy the Nephilim out quietly, avoiding drawing attention, but it was getting out of hand fast.

“We have to do something,” Meliorn said lowly. “If someone buys her, they’d put the binding spell on her and we’ll lose her forever.”

“What if we can’t get out all three of them?” Raphael asked calmly.

The com in his ear crackled, Fray’s voice instantly back.

“We get all three of them, Raphael, that was the deal!”

“A deal with who exactly?” Simon murmured disgruntledly.

“Simon!”

“I’m joking! Jee, Fray, of course, we’ll get the three of them. They,” he backtracked, “they’ll get the three of them!”

Raphael rolled his eyes. He turned, scanning the crowd for Captain and not seeing him.

“Eyes on the stage, people,” Magnus’ voice came on as if on cue.

Around them, no one was screaming out bids anymore. Raphael’s head snapped up.

On the stage, Morgenstern moved closer to his captives with a manic grin splitting his burnt face almost in half. He was saying something, voice low.

Alexander surged forward, pushing Morgenstern backwards violently.

The man grinned even more.

“Bad choice,” he mouthed before getting out a small blade.

It came to life with a blue glow.

Raphael swore under his breath. “He is Nephilim too,” he said, his voice low.

The words left a foul taste in his mouth.

“WHAT?”

“The seller,” Meliorn confirmed. “The seller is Nephilim.”

“That’s impossible, he-” Fray’s voice wavered. “His eyes, his skin. He doesn’t even look human!”

There was a commotion, and then the blond Lightwood, Jonathan, howled, voice almost inhuman. Raphael turned to the stage to see Alexander sagging down. Morgenstern stabbed him at the side.

“Man is crazy,” Meliorn said.

“We have to move,” Magnus commanded. “Lieutenants, we have to move _now_.”

Jonathan moved forward, past his brother, with a loud scream. The bindings were hanging limply from his wrists. The chain between his hands was broken, and there was blood trickling down. Morgenstern met the push readily, saying something, his smile still wide and manic.

Isabelle screamed out, Jonathan and Morgenstern both stumbling over the chain that bound her to the stage.

“Alec! Alec!” Isabelle tried to run to her brother, but Morgenstern yanked the chain backwards.

The three of them collided, falling off the stage.

“By whatever means,” Magnus said harshly, “we get them all.”

He was already on the stage, a swirl of magic encasing his hands. Raphael watched, almost as if in slow motion, one of Magnus’ own blades fly, piercing someone without him even looking.

A commotion broke out. People, screaming and panicking, scattered to get away.

“Killing vampires, really?” Raphael hissed.

“Sorry, _hijo_,” Magnus answered, slightly out of breath. “Need a distraction.”

Meliorn ignored them both, he was already next to the stage, a spear forming in his hands with a metallic clank. His heavy cloak was gone, so he was moving freely, happy to let some unspent energy out in battle.

Phaser shots fizzled through the air.

One grazed Raphael’s shoulder, the fabric ripping under its heat. Raphael ignored it, moving too, his own blades at hands. He threw a guard off the stage, fought off another one using his vampiric speed for his advantage. Someone screamed, the sound high and terrified.

“Duck!” Magnus’ voice rang.

Raphael did, instinctively, a purple cloud of magic shooting over his head. He turned. There was a man there, a phaser raised in his hands, frozen mid-movement, his eyes darting in horror from Raphael’s face to something – presumably Magnus – behind him. Raphael smirked and pushed him lightly. The man fell backwards like a wooden plank.

In front of the stage, Morgenstern pinned Jonathan down, another blade in his hands. He was grinning like a maniac, the burnt skin on his face seemed to crack and bleed. Isabelle was trying to pull him away, but Morgenstern shrugged her off easily.

“Time to die, brother!”

“Magnus!” Meliorn barked. He was trading blows with someone on the stage, the guard using a make-shift poll to match the Seelie’s spear.

There was only static on the coms.

“_Joder_,” Raphael ran forward and gripped Morgenstern’s shoulder, about to yank him backwards.

The bastard _turned_, his eyes flashing, and pushed Raphael off roughly. He jumped to his feet, lunging forward with his seraph blade. Raphael escaped narrowly. Lightwood, completely forgotten, stayed on the ground, breathing heavily.

“Feds,” drew out Morgenstern, smiling widely, wickedly, “employing a vampire to fight for a bunch of Nephilim. What a time,” he made a slashing move, making Raphael take another step backwards, “to be alive!”

“I’m an officer of the Fleet,” Raphael said sharply, avoiding another slash, “I fight for those who can’t, dickhead.”

He had to step back, again and again, helpless against the seraph blade. The wall behind him appeared all too soon, and Raphael straightened against it countering Morgenstern’s blows with his own, expression stubborn. He was going to lose this one if someone wouldn’t interrupt soon. The blades Raphael used were enforced with Seelie magic, but they were not a proper match against the seraph ones.

Morgenstern pointed the tip of his dagger at his neck.

“Nova Federation is weak,” he snarled at Raphael, “built on naïve ideals, supported by the Downworlders. What a joke! Look around. People are rotting from the inside, your own people! Your dreams of higher ground and moral standards are a load of crap!”

Raphael raised his chin. “You are one to talk.”

Morgenstern scowled, ready to strike.

“We are nothing alike!”

Something dropped on him from above, kicking the dagger out of his hands. Raphael moved to the side. It was the other Lightwood. He rolled off Morgenstern, rising to his feet, about to strike again. Magnus landed next to him, all grace and magic, his smile smug.

“Look, what I’ve found,” he winked at Raphael.

“Took you long enough,” Santiago muttered, adjusting his form.

Alexander’s hands were bound in front of him, but it didn’t seem to faze him. He hit Morgenstern, gripping his hands in a lock, aiming for his temple, and then kicked him forcefully square to the chest. Morgenstern stumbled backwards swaying but didn’t fall. He spat to the side and grinned.

“And you aren’t supposed to move anymore.”

“Zip it,” Alexander jerked left, avoiding an answering blow.

Magnus came to his aid, while a pair of leftover guards flanked Morgenstern. Raphael moved to attack and got zapped for his troubles, electricity surging through him violently. He stopped, almost shocked that some idiot would try it on a vampire, and glanced in the direction the shot came from.

The guard holding the zapper sneered at him, his eyes glowing green. Of course. Raphael sneered back, ripping the cord off himself and launching forward.

Lights flickered above them.

Suddenly there was a loud crack on the coms that sent Raphael nearly doubling over with its loudness. The man whose throat he was gripping broke free using his distraction, and scrambled away. Raphael let him, already turning, his eyes searching for Magnus.

Bane was sprawled on the ground, his body convulsing frantically, eyes flickering, magic seemingly splattering around with no pattern or rhythm. Alexander was on the ground, the only shield between Magnus and Morgenstern, his chin raised high. Morgenstern yet again was pointing the blade at his throat, smiling with glee. He glanced at Raphael, still grinning like a maniac.

“Did you think I wouldn’t be prepared for someone like you to show up?”

Raphael stepped closer almost unconsciously, fury burning in his chest at the sight of Magnus’s now limp body. A spear sped his way. He avoided it, jerking his shoulder back. There was a Seelie in Morgenstern’s guard as well. What kind of fuckery was that? The Seelie stepped out, her skin dark, but not dark enough to hide almost blackened veins underneath. It looked as if she was sick with something lethal, something spreading right from her heart pumping venom through her system.

She raised a jagged knife.

Raphael side-stepped her, too distracted, rushing in Magnus’ direction. Morgenstern was toying with Alexander, making slashing moves, probably leaving him in cuts. Lightwood was stubbornly staying at his position between him and Bane. Morgenstern seemed to enjoy it even more, his expression violent and crazy.

“I knew you were one of the traitors, Alec,” he taunted. “Weak, pathetic, Downworlder lover-”

A shock of ginger hair in front of him almost made Raphael lose his footing. Fray came crashing, like always, her twin-blades at the ready. Morgenstern stopped her mid-motion, grabbing a fistful of Alexander’s hair and holding the sword to his throat. 

“Don’t move,” he said, almost breathlessly, still smiling.

“Let him go!” Clary demanded.

“Ah,” Morgenstern sighed theatrically. “Clarissa Fairchild. I’ve heard about you.”

Jonathan, who regained consciousness somewhere along the way, came up to stand with them facing Morgenstern. He basically growled. The bindings on his wrists weren’t shining anymore, broken completely. Alexander, on the other hand, was slowly going limp in Morgenstern’s hands, the bracelets on his arms glowing almost blindingly bright.

“What’s happening?” Meliorn asked.

“I think he snapped a runed bracelet on Magnus,” Raphael replied almost inaudibly, while Clary was distracting Morgenstern and slowly edging closer.

“Do you think Fray’d get it off?”

“We can always cut off his hand,” Raphael replied, his voice tense. “Also, where the hell are you at?”

“On the ship, got the girl,” Meliorn replied curtly. “Gonna be back in a few. Simon, for the love of-”

Raphael tapped the com off.

Finally, both Fray and Jonathan got close enough to Morgenstern to jump him. Another fight broke out, Alexander blissfully unconscious, slumped somewhere over Magnus. Raphael moved forward to deal with the rest of the guards with Meliorn joining him shortly.

It was over almost too quick.

Between Clary and Jonathan, who moved surprisingly synchronized for someone who hasn’t even talked to each other yet, they’ve managed to overpower Morgenstern, even though he didn’t seem to care for his injuries. Clary knocked him out, bringing the hilt of her blade to his temple with a loud crack. Morgenstern dropped like a bag of bricks. Jonathan kicked him forcefully, breathing heavily. Then he turned, eyes searching. He was at his brother’s side instantly, dragging him off Magnus, cradling his head.

Raphael and Meliorn finished off the remaining guards, killing off almost all of them. The Seelie girl was knocked unconscious, as was the werewolf, they were both obviously on something, their veins almost black.

Clary dropped next to Magnus, hands searching him, checking for injuries.

“What…” she stopped at the bracelet, it was a thin silver band with runes carved into it intricately, making it look almost like jewellery.

“Can you get it off?” Meliorn asked, coming closer. He was disheveled, his hair slightly messy, but his eyes were sparkling like always after a justified fight.

“I think I can,” Clary answered already holding her stele above Magnus’ hand.

“It hurt him,” Raphael said, cracking his neck from side to side. “Can we strap Morgenstern to our windscreen?”

“Barbarian,” Meliorn breathed, but his expression seemed closer to Raphael’s.

“Who are you, people?”

They both turned to Jonathan, who was now sitting on the ground, Alexander’s head resting on his lap. He was holding onto the bracelets on his brother’s hands weakly, probably had tried to get them off before speaking up.

“I’m Clary,” Fray chirped instantly, her eyes sparkling. The restraint on Magnus’ wrist cracked under her hands like an eggshell.

“You’re a Shadowhunter,” Jonathan said slowly as if it required explanations. Maybe it did.

“Yes.”

Jonathan turned to Raphael and Meliorn.

“They aren’t though.”

“Morgenstern was,” Raphael supplied. “Any problem?”

“No,” Lightwood shook his head. “It’s just… Not what we were taught. Not what we expected. You saved us.” He turned, eyes searching, his expression turning alarmed quickly. “Wait where is…” 

“She’s on our ship,” Meliorn supplied. “Speaking of which, we should be moving too.”

“How are we supposed to drag three grown men, a Seelie, a wolf, and a prisoner to the ship by ourselves?” Raphael asked grumpily. “I’m not caring Bane just because he decided to take a nap in the middle of a battle.”

“I’m touched you care,” Magnus rasped, his voice hoarse.

He sat up slowly, looking around.

“See, taking a nap,” Raphael said, but his voice lacked heat.

Magnus got up and dusted himself making a face. Then he snapped his fingers, and Alexander’s bindings glowed brighter for a moment and then dropped.

“What are you all? Why did you help us?”

“That’s sorta what we do,” Clary said. She was now slightly hovering over their new keeps, her expression friendly and open. “We are with the Nova Fleet.”

“Right,” Magnus eyed her as if he was seeing something funny. “Magnus Bane,” he gestured to himself and the rest of their team. “Captain of NFS Mortal, we are here to rescue you.”

On the ship, to Raphael’s endless amusement and glee, they’ve found Simon cornered and Isabelle threatening him with a make-shift spear. She was swaying, her bindings were glowing, but she looked fierce. After Magnus relieved her of them and she’s seen her siblings, she calmed down considerably.

They put the older Lightwood in the infirmary with the other two refusing to leave. Jonathan didn’t move from his brother’s side and eventually seemed to fall asleep, slumped in a chair next to the medical bed. Isabelle climbed in with Alexander and laid on top of the blankets, tense as a coil.

Raphael stayed in the infirmary to keep an eye on the trio. He snatched one of the printed books Meliorn had scattered all over the ship and managed to flip through a bunch of pages when Isabelle’s curiosity finally got the best of her.

He felt her burning gaze and looked up to find her staring at him. She was now sitting, one of her hands still clutching at Alexander.

“Why did you help us?” she asked, and her tone was a careful mixture of curious and apprehensive.

“Haven’t you heard?” Raphael shrugged. “We are with the Nova Fleet.”

“Haven’t you? We were with the Circle.” Isabelle wrapped her free hand around her middle. “Mom was one of Valentine’s best recruiters. Dad is still on active duty.”

Raphael put the book down and gave her a thoughtful look. Clary volunteered some spare clothes towards Isabelle’s wardrobe and applied the iratze once or twice, bravely facing the Lightwoods’ clear apprehension and fixing their artificial wounds and cuts. Also, a comb, probably, was passed on, judging by how Isabelle’s hair now looked like actual human hair, if a bit limp.

“You’ve heard what Jonathan said. We are Lightwoods,” she said, misjudging his silence, her tone low, but firm.

Proud, but ready to face the punishment.

Raphael almost chuckled at the thought, all too familiar with the sentiment.

“We heard that one, yes,” he said finally. “It was a tactical decision.”

“Why?”

Raphael eyed Magnus, now changed into his purple command form, stopping in the doorframe, a tray with several plates in his hands. Isabelle didn’t notice him, and Magnus himself suddenly seemed all too interested in Raphael’s answer.

Raphael shrugged, struggling not to flip him off. Wouldn’t do for the second in command to get into a piss-contest with the captain. He groaned mentally.

“We believe in second chances,” Raphael said, pointedly ignoring Magnus’ smirk.

“No offence, but you don’t seem like you do,” Isabelle answered bluntly.

Raphael shrugged again.

“Lightwood,” he said, his voice suddenly way softer than he planned it to be, “I’m a vampire. If anyone believes in second chances, it’s me.”

“Huh,” the Shadowhunter seemed surprised, gaze dropping back to where she was clutching Alexander’s hand.

Magnus was positively beaming at him, so Raphael used Isabelle’s distraction and flipped Bane off.

“Bonding time?” Magnus asked softly to make his presence known and to get back at Raphael.

Raphael scoffed. Isabelle turned to Magnus with a weak smile.

“Captain Bane.”

“Isabelle,” Magnus put the tray on the table next to Alec’s bed, “you should try and get some rest. It wouldn’t do for Jonathan and Alexander here to wake up and find you collapsing in turn.”

Isabelle blinked at him. Then huffed a laugh.

“Sorry, no one calls us that,” she said gingerly dragging a hand over her face. “I’m Izzy. This is Alec and Jace, they are…” she swallowed thickly, “They’re my brothers and parabatai. That’s why the recovery is hard on them both.”

“Oh,” Magnus nodded. “I’ve known parabatai before.”

Raphael tsked. They’ve known parabatai, when the mundanes haven’t even reached the stars yet. He’s seen Magnus pick up the pieces of said parabatai when their duty caught up to them. It wasn’t pretty. It broke Magnus’ heart over and over.

“I’ve never known warlocks,” Isabelle said as a matter of answering. “You are one of the last ones in the whole universe, right? Lonely Captain of the Mortal, the Great Destruction, travelling the distant quadrants. We’ve heard stories.”

“Stories often lie,” Magnus said easily. “For one, I’m not lonely, I’m, in fact, surrounded by friends at most times. Raphael here is our Commander. Simon, the one you tried to pierce with a poll, is the Navigator. Meliorn is in charge of communications.”

“What about the girl?” Isabelle sniffed, her eyes narrowing, “Clary? She is runed. Did she deflect too?”

Magnus smiled at the thought, amused.

“Oh, no, Biscuit’s never been a part of the Circle. We thought she was mundane when we found her and Simon.”

“Huh,” Isabelle said thoughtfully as if it was a perfect explanation. Then she looked up at him again. “Still, heard stories of the crew as well. Captain Bane and his two loyal followers.”

“Raphael and Meliorn are friends,” Magnus said, amused still.

“So, a trio of immortals,” Isabelle said slowly, “your ship is called Mortal. Taking a piss much?”

Raphael watched Magnus huff out a helpless laugh at that.

“My, that’s blunt.”

“I’ve been called that,” Isabelle gave him a smile that on a good day must have been able to sway gods themselves. “Still. Why’d you name your ship that?”

“Why don’t you stay and find out?”

“Stay? You were gonna let us go?” Isabelle asked, too surprised to stop herself, her bright eyes full of suspicion.

“The closest rock if you wish,” Raphael supplied.

Isabelle raised an eyebrow, while Magnus chose to ignore his quip.

“Whenever it’s physically possible, you may of course leave,” he said, his tone firm. “However, if you choose so, you may stay. I am willing to take up new crew members, and you, guys, seem like you are in dire need of a friendly hand.”

“We’ve had one of those,” Isabelle sniffed again looking down at her brothers.

“And mister Morgenstern is safely bound in the brig,” Magnus assured her. “Still. You don’t have to decide now.”

Isabelle laughed mirthlessly.

Magnus was long gone when she finally looked at Raphael again. He met her gaze.

“Thank you,” Isabelle Lightwood said.

Her eyes were red, lips trembling slightly.

“Yeah,” Raphael nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Just another day on duty, right?

**Author's Note:**

> Come to [Tumblr](https://zhong-mu-kui-kui.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/zhongmukuikui) and scream about Malec and all things Shadowhunter with me


End file.
